


The Angels Take London

by Cinnamon1895



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Crossover, Doctor Who Crossover, F/M, Gen, M/M, Sherlock and John as companions, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon1895/pseuds/Cinnamon1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John haven't seen the Raggedy Doctor in months, and life in London has been peaceful. But when Sherlock disappears into the detective story of Melody Malone, the Doctor comes to call one more time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Disappearing Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Wholock fic. The background is basically this: After Reichenbach, the Doctor’s TARDIS crashed in London and John found him. They traveled together, found Sherlock, and followed the basic plotline for Rory and Amy. This is Angels Take Manhattan.  
> Many thanks to Potato Fairy, 1895GoodSir, and accioallthefood.tumblr.com for all the help. After you read this you should go check out their stuff, it tastes good.
> 
> Not my characters, obviously. I just like tears.

 

 

 

“London growled at my window, but I was ready for it. My stocking seams were straight, my lipstick was combat ready, and I was packing cleavage that could fell an ox at twenty feet.”

“John!”

“Sherlock, do you mind? I’m reading.”

“Yes you are, out loud. Would you please stop, I’m trying to work.” Sherlock massaged his temples, aggravated.

“Have I really been reading out loud?” John asked, slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t noticed. Sherlock groaned dramatically and slumped down against the kitchen table, face in his hands.

“I’ve been listening to you narrate the adventures of the overly buxom Melody Malone for the past ten minutes. At one point, you said ‘yowzah’. It’s quite droll. Are you really so desperate for female companionship that you are attracted to a fictional character?” John made a face and adjusted his reading glasses.

“Tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” He muttered to himself, turning back to his book. Sherlock slammed his fist on the table and jumped up out of his chair. John looked back up and watched as Sherlock irritably wound his scarf around his neck and pulled on his coat, tugging on the buttons much more harshly than was necessary. “Going somewhere?” he asked lightly.

“I’m going for coffee, I need some air. Perhaps by the time I get back, you and Ms. Malone will have found a room where you can narrate her exploits in cleavage without disturbing my work.” Sherlock snapped testily before leaving, closing the door with a sharp snap. John rolled his eyes and turned back to his book.

 .

.

.

Two coffees in hand, Sherlock walked with his eyes straight ahead, fighting the instinctive urge to observe the insignificant people around him. He needed his mind clear for the experiment he was currently working on if it was to be finished any time soon. Hopefully John would have given up his reading by the time he got back, it was quite ridiculous. He turned the corner onto an empty street – strange for this time of day, usually at this time the streets are filled with people - , walking past a small green with a fountain adorned with small statues of infants. He glanced at the fountain for a moment before looking away and picking up his pace, uncomfortable under their penetrating gazes. Don’t be ridiculous, they are merely statues he reprimanded himself mentally. Nevertheless, he walked slightly faster.

“He he!”

Sherlock stopped, not sure of what he just heard. He stood perfectly still, listening as hard as he could. He could hear the chatter of the people and traffic the street over, but their babble seemed muted and distant. He felt strangely isolated despite being in the middle of the city.

“He he he! He he!”

Sherlock jumped around, nearly spilling his coffee in the process.

“Who’s there?” he called, feeling foolish for speaking out to a clearly empty road. He swept his eyes across the street, taking in the scene – _**street well paved like most, small green on one side with the running fountain, posters on the wall of the building on the opposite side**_ \- . There wasn’t room behind the fountain for a person to hide. He walked over to the building and put his ear to the wall to listening for activity. He set the coffees down on the pavement and checked round the corners twice.

No one was there. No one who could have been laughing.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. Get a grip he thought to himself firmly before picking up the coffees and turning back around, mind already back with his experiment. Perhaps if I add hydrogen peroxide to the solution -

That’s when the street changed.


	2. The Box in the Kitchen

 

                Left alone after Sherlock’s sudden departure, John settled more comfortably in his chair and resumed his reading. Reading out loud added a certain something to a book, he thought.  Words were meant to be spoken aloud.  And if Sherlock couldn’t appreciate that then he could just stay out for a bit.

                “As I crossed the street, I saw the thin guy. He didn’t see me. I guess that’s how it began. I followed the skinny guy for two more blocks before he turned, and I could ask what he was doing. He looked a little scared, so I gave him a smile and my bluest eyes. He said–.” John paused, blinking twice. _No, that can’t be right, I must be seeing things._ His eyes moved back to the top of the page, tracing carefully over the words instead of reading them aloud again. When he got to that spot in the middle of the page, he paused again. “What in hell?” he muttered to himself. 

                Sitting alone in the flat, that’s when he heard it—that so familiar and so welcome noise. It wasn’t loud, but it was close and insistent; it came with a million promises and hopes and dreams. It made your ears perk up and your heart skip a beat.  

                It was the Doctor’s TARDIS.

                And it was in the fucking kitchen.

                John jumped up from his chair as the familiar blue box materialized.

                “I don’t know about you, but it’s been ages for us Doctor. Where’ve you been?” he called out amicably as the TARDIS door opened, book fallen forgotten on the floor.  The Doctor rushed out of the door, eyes wild, bowtie askew, and just generally looking out of sorts. “You okay?” John asked.  The Doctor looked around for a moment, looking confused, before stepping forward clumsily and clapping a hand on John’s shoulder.

                “John! Yes, lovely to see you, I’m afraid we haven’t time for pleasantries, where is Sherlock?”

                “Out for coffee, why?” John asked. The Doctor held up a book. The same as John’s.

                “No, he’s not. And we have a problem.” He opened the book and read aloud, “He said ‘I just went to get coffee for John and myself. Hello, Doctor Song.’ “

 .

.

.

                “Hello, Sherlock.” Doctor Song purred. Sherlock blinked twice, adjusting to the sudden darkness. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but the scene was different. **_Smooth pavement replaced with rougher cobblestone, air warmer and damper, even the babble from the streets over sounded different. I feel wrong, slightly nauseous, but not in the normal way._**

                “We’re back in time. How?”  Sherlock demanded. River chuckled

                “Oh, you do catch on quick, don’t you smartypants? Where are we in your timestream?”

                “It’s been four months since Demon’s Run, we’ve been home.” His said, preoccupied with his surroundings. **_Something moving in the shadows behind the building, whispers close, footsteps coming from behind._ ** “And I believe we are about to have company.” As he spoke, cold steel pressed against his back. “Might want to raise your hands.” He added loftily. He raised his hands slowly as four men surrounded the pair. **_They don’t bother to cover their faces, so either not the brightest bunch or we’re in immediate mortal danger. Someone’s lackey’s most likely. Three of them keep glancing at the man directly behind Doctor Song, the leader most likely then. Long trench coats, fedoras, Remington pistol, so somewhere in the 1930s, maybe early 40s._**

                “Melody Malone?” the larger man behind River inquired. **_The first to speak, definitely the leader then._**

                “Of course, you’re Melody. ‘My lipstick was combat ready’ I should have known, that narration reeks of you.” River quirked an eyebrow.

                “Narration? I’m to write a book? And you’ve read it, I’m flattered. “

                “Don’t be, John was reading it.”

                “Enough!” the man behind Sherlock growled, jabbing him sharply in the spine with the barrel of his gun. **_Eager to prove himself, or masculinity issues perhaps._** A car pulled up abruptly next the odd group, engine humming softly in the night air.

                “In. Both of you, now.”


	3. Missing in London

                “Hold on,” John stopped him “I was just reading that. Wait,” he turned back around and grabbed his copy off the floor.

                “ _You_ were reading it?” the Doctor stared. “Where did you get it?”

                “I found it in a box of Sherlock’s old things.” John responded, flipping through the pages to find the right spot. “It seemed odd that he would have a detective novel so I decided to give it a go. Where did you get it?”

                ‘It was in my jacket pocket.” The Doctor shrugged.

                “How did it get…never mind, it doesn’t matter.” John looked back to the Doctor. “What matters is what the hell is Sherlock doing in a book with River?”

                “He was getting coffee, pay attention!” The Doctor bopped John on the nose with the book and shoved it in his hands, rushing back into the TARDIS. “Well, are you coming or not?” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the police box.  Both books in hand, John hastily followed him.

 

.

.

.

                “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on?” Sherlock inquired as he and Doctor Song slid into the leather backseat of the car. Doctor Song shrugged and smiled as the engine came to life.

                “Deduce something, smartypants.”

.

.

.

                “I don’t understand how this works.” John persisted, shutting the TARDIS door clumsily behind him. “How did they get into a book?” The Doctor threw up his hands impatiently as he stomped over to the consul.  

                “Who knows?” the Doctor grumbled “This is my wife and your flatmate we’re talking about, those two – “

                “Erm, boyfriend, actually.” John corrected, blushing slightly. The Doctor stopped abruptly and turned back around.

                “Boyfriend? Boyfriend? You mean you two…you…” he made a kissy face. John laughed embarrassedly and nodded, setting one copy of the book down on the consul. “Oh that’s, that’s brilliant!” The Doctor exclaimed and clapped his hands together, then stopped. “Wait, where is this in your time stream?”

                “With you? It’s been about four months for us, we saw you last at Demon’s Run.” John answered, confused by the seemingly random question. “We have Melody.” he added. The Doctor groaned dramatically.

                “Damn, why didn’t you wait a little bit longer? That shouldn’t have happened in your timestream yet, I was so close to winning!” he pouted. John opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, then chose to ignore this statement for the time being.

                “Can we figure out what’s going on now? I’d like to get him back.”

 .

.

.

                A police siren sounded in the distance as the car ran steadily down the cobblestone road.  **_Outwardly, Doctor Song displays no signs of fear, but her eyes betray her. The driver glances back approximately every 30 seconds, probably worried we will attempt an escape. Possibly unarmed then._**

                “So tell me, dear, how’s John?” Doctor Song inquired lightly, catching Sherlock slightly off guard.

                “He’s well.” he replied after a moment of deliberation.  _If she doesn't know yet, I can't say something, can I?_ he wondered

                “Do you know about me yet?” she asked, eyes forward. Sherlock smiled tightly, feeling slightly relieved. 

                “Yes.”  He responded. Doctor Song’s smirk widened.

                “Four months you said? Ha, I win.”

 .

.

.

                “Gloat about it, why don’t you.” The Doctor mumbled petulantly, fiddling with the screen on the consul. “Date! I need a date! Does she mention a date?”

                ‘Well hang on!” John replied hastily, pushing his reading glasses up his nose and skimming through the text. “Here! April 3, 1938.”

                


	4. Looking Ahead

"Is the Doctor here?” Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes on the driver.

                “I haven’t got a clue,” River replied, “But he can’t come in the TARDIS. It can’t land here. The city’s full of time distortions, it would be like trying to land a plane in a blizzard.”  She paused.  “Even I couldn’t do it.” she added cheekily.

.

.

.

                “What does she mean, the TARDIS can’t land there? Even who couldn’t do it?” The Doctor leaned over John’s shoulder.  “Pfft, 1938! Easy!” he spun around back to the console and flipped a switch. The circuit exploded, blowing the Doctor backwards. John threw up his arms to shield his face and jumped back. Both men were thrown violently to the floor as the TARDIS swerved, the console screen screeching out a warning siren before losing its signal.

                “What in hell was that?” John exclaimed and pushed himself upright. The Doctor blinked, staring hard at the console as it smoked.  

                “Um…1938. We just bounced off it.”

 .

.

.

                Sherlock fought the urge to fidget in discomfort. “How did you get here?” he asked quietly.

                “I used a vortex manipulator.” Doctor Song pushed up her sleeve and displayed the device on her wrist. “Less bulky than a TARDIS, like a motorbike through traffic. The real question is; how did you get here?”

                “If I knew I would have told you by now.” He replied snippily. River rolled her eyes.

                “That was rhetorical, I was thinking out loud.”

                “Well don’t, it’s useless.” He said flatly. River huffed, aggravated, and crossed her arms across her chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Just like her father_ he thought, irritably, but fondly.

 .

.

.

                “Out! Out! Quick!” The Doctor shoved John hastily out the door as the TARDIS control room filled with smoke. Coughing and stumbling, John fumbled out still holding on to the book. He looked around as he caught his breath. They had landed in a properly creepy grave yard. The Doctor followed, carrying a sort of fire extinguisher. “It must be the Angels!” he yelled “The Weeping Angels!”

                “The Weeping Angels?” John repeated, his stomach dropping. “Are you sure?”

                ‘Well, it makes sense doesn’t it? That’s what the Angels do, they zap you back in time and let you live to death. They – “

                “Yes, yes, I know what they do.” John cut him off impatiently “We have a bloody time machine, can’t we just go get him?” he leaned against a headstone and began rifling through the book.  The Doctor huffed, put out at being interrupted.

                “We’ve tried that, if you hadn’t noticed! We’re back where we started!” he said angrily, releasing the contents of the extinguisher into the TARDIS. Dark smoke billowed out into the cemetery.  

                “We didn’t start in a graveyard though, why are we here?”

                “Oh I don’t bloody know, they’re probably linked somehow, who cares?” he threw the extinguisher on the ground angrily. “Great help you are you stupid tin can. Extractor fans on!” he shouted into the TARDIS.

                “Well we get there somehow; we’re in the rest of the book.” John replied

                “Hm?” the Doctor asked distractedly, peering through the thinning smoke into the (hopefully not ruined) control room.

                “Well, here, page 43. You break something.” The Doctor ignored him, so he began to read aloud. “‘Why do you have to break mine?’ I asked the Doctor. ‘Because John read it in a book and now I have no choi—.“

                “No! Stop!” The Doctor ran over and pulled the book from John’s hands. “You can’t...you can’t read ahead!” he exclaimed, a panicked look in his eye. John raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

                “Doctor, we’ve already been reading it.” He pointed out, trying to keep his now raising temper in check.  The Doctor gripped John’s arm tightly.

                “Only what’s happening in parallel with us! That’s as far as we go!” he insisted.

                “But it could help us find Sherlock!”

                “And if you read ahead and Sherlock dies?” The Doctor spit out. John stared.

                “No, that’s not happening.” he shook his head vigorously. “I’m not doing that again, abso – fucking – lutely not.”

 “Then you can’t read ahead! This isn’t any old future, John! It’s _ours._ Once we know what’s coming, it’s fixed. Don’t you understand? I have to break something now because you told me I would. No choice now.”

“Time can be rewritten.” John insisted. The Doctor paused, a sad, sad look in his eyes.

                “Not once you’ve read it. Once you’ve read it, it’s set in stone.” He swallowed and blinked, collecting himself. “Now come on, I’ve got an idea.” He pulled John back to the TARDIS, shoving the book back at him. “You keep up with what’s parallel to us. But don’t read ahead!” John took the book and followed.

                Because they were so preoccupied, neither one of them noticed the headstone two rows in front of where they were standing. Because they didn’t notice the headstone, they didn’t notice the very familiar name set in stone.

 

_In loving memory_

_John H. Watson_


	5. Xin Dynasty

The car pulled in front of a large, imposing building. In front of the door were two armed men. One of them opened the back seat door.

                “Out.” He said curtly. Sherlock and Doctor Song slid out of the car and into the cool night air. They were ushered in to a grand foyer, brightly lit by a chandelier hanging from the dead centre of the ceiling. The room was ornately decorated with fine paintings on the wall and antiques displayed on fine tables. The door shut heavily behind them, the many locks clanging with the force.

                “Early Xin dynasty, I’d say.” Doctor Song remarked lightly, looking at a rather fragile looking vase on a stand near the door.

                “Correct.” A voice affirmed from the top of the stairs. Sherlock and Doctor Song looked up to see a rather plump man in a pinstriped standing above them. **_Obviously in charge of whatever’s going on, some sort of antiques dealer or smuggler. Far too elegant to be entirely legal._** “Are you an archeologist as well as a detective?’ the man inquired.

.

.

.

                “Okay, landing a plane in a timey wimey blizzard.” The Doctor thought out loud as John watched him turn a large gear over the consul. “I could push through…and if miss by a nanosecond the engines will phase and I’ll shatter the planet.” He added with a noncommittal shrug. John let out a puff of air. _He knows what he’s doing_ he reminded himself, though not very confidently. “I need landing lights!”

                “Landing lights?” John repeated. “What’dyou mean?”

                “I need a signal to lock onto. What did she say? Early what dynasty?”

.

.

.

                “Early Xin, just as you say.” The man affirmed. “You’re very well informed.” Sherlock ran his eyes over the man’s form while he was being ignored. **_Wealthy, as I assumed. Sweating, pupils dilated, so he’s nervous. Why is he nervous, are we a threat to him? Or is something else?_**

“And you’re very afraid. That’s an awful lot of locks for one door.” Sherlock said, his eyes roving around the room. Doctor Song smirked.  The man turned to Sherlock.

                “I don’t believe I was addressing you. This one,” he said curtly to his lackey, “put him somewhere…uncomfortable.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. The lackey dutifully gripped his arm and began steering him out of the room.

                “Oh yes, good puppy, maybe he’ll give you a bone.” He said sarcastically. **_Pistol in his pocket, knife up his sleeve, strung up on nerves and something stronger, not worth the risk of a botched escape attempt._**

“Shut your mouth.” The man growled. “Can I give him to the babies, sir?” The man in the suit chuckled.

                “Why not, you deserve a bit of fun. The babies.”

                “And there’s the bone.” Sherlock muttered. He was ushered through a room off the foyer, then to a locked door. The lackey opened the door, then shoved him unceremoniously through to a flight of stairs. Sherlock stumbled and tumbled down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a sickening _thump._ The lackey threw a packet of matches down at him.

                “You’ll last longer with these.” He said curtly.

                “Last against what?”

                “My ‘bone’.” The man chuckled and shut the door, leaving Sherlock in pitch darkness. He pushed himself into an upright position, feeling around for the packet of matches.

                “Hehehe! Hehehehe!”

.

.

.

                The Doctor sprinted out of the TARDIS, John following close behind. _2012, 1938, ancient China, all in one day, not bad_ he thought to himself. They pushed their way into the small shop, much to the surprise of the potters there. The Doctor stopped abruptly and John nearly ran into him. He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.

                “Ah, hello there!” he fiddled around in his pockets before pulling out the psychic paper.  John winced apologetically at the man at the potter’s wheel. He looked positively scandalized. “Special permission from the emperor.” The Doctor said importantly. 


	6. Only Human

“Doctor Song, if you’ll follow me.” The main said politely, turning his attention back to her. River watched Sherlock being manhandled out of the room until he vanished from sight, then followed the portly man up the stairs. She was led into a room off the main staircase, dimly lit and as richly furnished as the foyer.

 “Forgive my rudeness, I have not introduced myself. I am Mr. Grayle. May I take your coat?” he asked. She smirked and delicately let him slide the trench coat off her shoulders. She removed the fedora and fluffed her hair back in place, taking in her surroundings. A vase similar to the one downstairs caught her eye. Thanks to her time on the TARDIS, the writing translated automatically. ‘Hello Sweetie’. River smirked. _Come on now, clever idiot._ She turned back around.

“Now, let’s see!” she said, moving past him towards a curtain on the other side of the room. “A crime boss with a collecting fetish. Whatever you don’t want anyone else to see must be your favorite. Or your girlfriend. “ she shrugged, taking hold of the drawstring and giving it a sharp tug. The curtain parted and her stomach dropped.

An Angel, badly injured and chained around the wrists, but an Angel nonetheless. Staring into her, mouth contorted into an ugly, silent scream. She swallowed hard and turned back around.

“Okay, girlfriend then.” She said lightly without missing a beat, pushing up the sleeve of her dress and pressing a button on her vortex manipulator.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded.  River smirked.

“Oh, you know. Texting a boy.”

..

..

..

 The Doctor’s eyes lit up when the control screen bleeped a message “Found you!” he read aloud excitedly, “We have landing lights! Locking on!” John caught hold to the consul as the TARDIS rocked violently.

“This better fucking work.” He muttered as he held on tightly. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice John’s skepticism, or just ignored it.

..

..

..

                “They’re all over the city.” The man said as River stared at the Angel, instinctively not blinking. “People don’t seem to notice them. They never move while you’re looking.”

                “Oh, I know how they work,” River said quietly, not quite able to keep the trembling out of her voice.

                “So I’ve heard. Melody Malone, the detective who investigates Angels.” River walked cautiously towards the Angel, not taking her eyes off it.

                “And you’ve been what, collecting them?” she deduced, feeling mildly nauseated. Grayle shrugged.

                “Such strange, fantastic creatures, how could I resist? I’m only human.” He said lightly.

                “That’s exactly what they’re thinking.” She remarked darkly, taking in the nicks and injuries, “Badly damaged. You realize it’s screaming? The others can hear it.” She added bitterly. Her eyes widened as she connected the dots. “Is that why you need all the locks? Just like Sherlock – “

                With a flip of the switch, the room was bathed in darkness. River cried out as a cold hand grabbed her wrist. The lights flipped back on.

                “You’re going to tell me everything you know about these creatures.” The man commanded easily with his finger on the switch as River tried to pull her wrist free. “And you’re going to do it quickly.”

 

While this was going on upstairs, downstairs Sherlock was feeling his way in the dark for the packet of matches. When he found it, he fumbled for a moment, finally striking a match to create a small, wavering flame. He stood slowly, straining his ears for a sound of life. He could swear he heard the pattering of little feet.

                “Hehehe! Hehehe!”

                Sherlock started, dropping the match in surprise. Hastily he lit another, working hard to keep his fingers from trembling. Cautiously, he walked forward, holding the flame out in front of his body so he could see a bit better. After taking a few steps, he saw a pile of small statues on the floor. Little statues of infants contorted into odd positions. They looked eerily similar to the statues on the fountain in the street earlier. **_Are these the babies?_** He swore quietly as the flame reached the end of the match and burnt his fingers. He dropped it and was bathed in darkness. It took only a moment to strike a third match, but when he did he dropped it again almost immediately, falling backwards in fear.

                The statues had moved.

                “Hehehe! Hehehe!”louder now, he heard the little feet pattering. Sherlock fumbled for a fourth match. **_Statues that move in the dark, I’ve been sent back in time, oh stupid stupid stupid._**

                “No, no, I know what you are, you won’t touch me!” he called out loudly, voice cracking in fear. He lit a fourth match, and found himself face to face with a statue, its eyes boring into his, lips pursed.

                The match blew out.

                “No!”


	7. The Detective in the Cellar

 

 

                 River kept her eyes on the Angel, her wrist trapped in its stone hand. _Why am I still here?_ She wondered.

                “I’m waiting, Ms. Malone.”

                “They’re called the Weeping Angels. They’re predators, and they’re deadly. What do you want with them?” she demanded.

                “Oh, is that it? Rather dull after all.” Grayle replied, sounding disappointed.

                “Yes, one of the fiercest predators in the universe, and it’s boring.” She muttered angrily. As she spoke, the lights began to flitter. River smiled as she heard a familiar grating hum coming closer. _Idiot left the brakes on again,_ she thought affectionately as the hum grew louder and louder. Behind her, Mr. Grayle was panicking in his confusion.           

                “What is this? Is it a storm? Are more coming?” he shouted over the din.

                “Oh, you bad boy,” River smiled to herself, “You could burn London.”

                “What does that mean?” Mr. Grayle demanded, rushing back towards the stairs to investigate.

                “It means, Mr. Grayle, just you wait until my husband gets home.”

.

               

                Inside the TARDIS, John pushed himself to his feet after taking another tumble and started towards the door. He stopped when he realized the Doctor wasn’t following. “Coming?” he asked impatiently.

                “Erm..final checks.” The Doctor said sheepishly, ducking behind the console. 

                “Since when?” John asked irritably, crossing his arms. The Doctor jumped back after a moment, hair tidied and bow tie straightened.

                “Right, let’s go!” he said, bouncing over to the door. John shook his head and followed. The door creaked as they exited into the lavish foyer. Mr. Grayle was standing at the top of the stairs, mouth gaping.  John pushed past him impatiently.

                “Sherlock? Are you here?” he called out, stomach dropping when he didn’t hear a reply. Mr. Grayle marched up to him, face red with anger.  

                “Now, hold on just a moment, just what exactly do you think—.“ John grabbed the plumper man by the lapel of his jacket and shoved him roughly against the wall.

                “Stand here and keep your mouth shut, I’m in no mood.”  He commanded, glaring. Mr. Grayle swallowed nervously and nodded. John released him, and the two doctors went up the stairs. When they got there, they saw River standing in an awkward position, beaming. The Doctor stiffened slightly, smiling back. John leaned against the door, taking in the scene in front of him. An Angel had its hand firmly wrapped around River’s arm. _So why hasn’t she been sent back in time?_ He wondered. _And where the hell is Sherlock?_

                “Sorry I’m late, honey. Traffic was hell.” The Doctor said. He walked over to River and stood next to her, leaning close. “Where are we now, Doctor Song? How’s prison?”

                “I was pardoned ages ago, and it’s Professor Song to you.” She replied cheekily. “It seems the man I murdered never existed in the first place. There’s no record of him anywhere. It’s almost as if someone’s been wiping himself from every database in the universe.”

                “You said I was getting too big.” The Doctor replied, pecking her lightly on the cheek.

                “Oh for Christ’s sake, could you flirt later?” John said exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Doctor cleared his throat, embarrassed, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He ran the light over the Angel’s hand, his expression hardening.

                “She’s got you very tight, but she doesn’t seem strong enough to send you back in time.” He observed, pursing his lips.

                “Well, I need a hand back, so are you going to break her wrist, or mine?” she noticed the expression on his face. “Oh, why do you have to break mine?” she whined.  The Doctor shrugged.

                “Because John read it in a book, and now I have no choice. “ The Doctor looked back at John, who avoided eye contact.

                “What book are you talking about?” River asked, a confused expression on her face. John held it up.

                “Your book.” John said “Which apparently, you haven’t written yet, and we can’t read.”

                “I see.” River pursed her lips, becoming annoyed. “I don’t like the cover much. Well, we can’t read ahead, it’s too dangerous. So what do we do?”

                “I don’t know!” the Doctor said angrily, snatching the book from John and taking a seat on a chair.

                “Well,” John said “If Melody wrote a book, she’d make it useful, yea? There must be something we can look at.”

                “What, a page of spoiler free hints?” the Doctor said sarcastically.

                “Well, what about chapter titles?” John suggested. The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it, giving John a thumbs up. John smiled cheekily as the Doctor opened the book to the first page and skimmed the chapter titles.

                _Chapter 1….The Disappearing Detective_  


_Chapter 2….The Box in the Kitchen_

_Chapter 3….Missing in London_

_Chapter 4….Looking Ahead_

_Chapter 5….Xin Dynasty_

_Chapter 6….Only Human_

_Chapter 7….The Detective in the Cellar_

The Doctor looked up. “He’s in the cellar.”

“Gimme.” John said immediately, holding out his hand. The Doctor tossed him the sonic screwdriver. He caught it and rushed out the room.  The Doctor jumped up and walked over to River. He kissed her lightly on the cheek for the second time and made to follow John. As he did, he opened the book and started skimming down the title page. He stopped abruptly.

“Doctor?” River asked. “Doctor, what is it? Sweetheart tell me!” The Doctor started trembling, leaning on the back of a chair.

 

_Chapter 13….John’s Last Farewell_

 

“Okay, I know that face, you need to calm down right now.” River commanded loudly, forcing her voice to stay even as the Doctor began to visibly panic. He slapped the book once, twice against his forehead, hard. “Doctor, talk to me!”

“No!” he roared, turning to her, his eyes wild. He stormed over to his wife, his growing rage making him seem larger with every step. Rover forced herself not to tremble as he stood close to her face. “Get your wrist out.” He hissed “You get your wrist out without breaking it.” He turned and stormed off, leaving her alone with the Angel.

                “How?” she called after him, tugging fruitlessly against the Angel’s grip.

                “I don’t know, change the future!” he called back.  


	8. Changing the Future

John turned the lock on the cellar door, pushing the door open with a loud _creak._ The cellar was completely dark, so he left the door open and flipped the screwdriver. The familiar hum made John feel slightly more in control as he started down the stairs.

                “Sherlock? Sherlock, are you here?” he called out, holding the screwdriver out in front of himself. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked around. About four or five feet away there was a cluster of small statues of babies.

                “No! Stop there! They’re Angels!” The Doctor shouted, grabbing John by the arm and pulling him back. John jumped and swore, startled. He trained the light of the screwdriver back over to the statues.

                “Baby Angels? Shit…” he moved the light downwards and saw a few matches scattered on the floor. “D’ya think they got him?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

                “Yes. I’m sorry John, I think they did.” The Doctor pulled him back further up the stairs. “Come on, keep your eyes on them.” John kept the light trained on the Angels and let the Doctor lead him clumsily up the stairs. When they reached the top, they hastily went through the door and locked it. John shoved a chair in front of it for good measure.

…

…

…

                “Dammit.” Sherlock muttered, pushing himself to his feet and taking in his surroundings. He was outside again, and his surroundings looked quite familiar from before. The sign on the hotel across the street flickered: The Winter Quay. _Might as well,_ he thought, crossing the street and mounting the steps.

…

…

…

                John sat down on the steps watched the Doctor pace back and forth. “So, what’s the plan? We just keep chasing Sherlock while they keep zapping him back, further away from us?”

                “He isn’t back in time.” River entered, eyes glued to the screen of her instrument. Both doctors looked up in surprise and confusion. _How did she…_ John began to wonder, before shoving the thought to the side. “There’s no temporal markers,” she continued, “he’s only been moved in space. I’m trying to lock onto his position.”  The Doctor walked towards her, eyes wide.

                “You…you got your hand free…how did you do that?” The Doctor asked, his eyes lighting up.

                “Melody, where is he?” John asked, trying not to lose patience.  

                “I’m working on it dear, hold on.” She replied sharply, biting her lip.

                “But how did you get your wrist out?” the Doctor asked again.

                “You asked, I did, problem?” she replied, not meeting the Doctor’s eyes. John frowned, sensing something was wrong. He didn’t say anything, but ran his eyes over her coat-covered form. She was standing awkwardly, holding her right arm out from her body at an odd angle. _She did break her wrist,_ he realized.   _But why isn’t she saying something?_

                “You just changed the future!” the Doctor exclaimed, beaming.

                “It’s called marriage, now hush! I’m working!” River replied, still not looking up. The Doctor laughed triumphantly and plopped down on the stairs next to John.

                “She’s good, have you noticed? Really noticed?” he asked proudly. John nodded, trying to catch River’s gaze.

                “Got him!” River exclaimed, showing the screen to the Doctor. “A few blocks away. There’s a car out front, shall we steal it?” she asked devilishly, quirking an eyebrow.

                “Oh, you bad girl, let’s go!” the Doctor jumped out and grabbed River’s hand. She cried out and pulled back. Blood draining from his face, the Doctor turned slowly back to face his wife. River stepped back from him, her expression blank. John swallowed and looked away, not willing to admit how frightened he was of the expression on the Doctor’s face.

…

…

…

                Sherlock turned slowly in a circle, taking in his surroundings. He jumped slightly when the lift at the other end of the room clicked to life and lowered slowly. It quietly reached the floor, the door opening on its own. It was almost as if it had been expecting him. Curious, Sherlock entered the lift and closed the door.

…

…

 

…

John volunteered to drive the stolen car, more than ready for a distraction from the awkward tension between Melody and the Doctor. The two time travelers chose the back seat.

                “Why did you lie to me?” the Doctor asked quietly. John winced uncomfortably at how…young he sounded. How betrayed. Melody sighed, apparently feeling the same way.

                “When one is in love with an ageless god who insists on the face of a twelve year old, one does one’s best to hide the damage.” She replied slowly, each word carrying weight. 

                “That must hurt.” The Doctor said, sounding small.

                “The wrist is bad too.” She answered quietly. The Doctor sighed, and there was silence for  a moment.

                “No, stop that! _Stop!_ ” Melody said suddenly. John frowned and tried to look in the rearview mirror. The back seat was being illuminated by a golden light.

                “Everything alright back there?” he asked hesitantly. Melody looked mad enough to spit.

                “No, my idiot husband just wasted his regeneration energy on my damn wrist! Pull up here.” She snapped. John nodded and obeyed. Melody was out of the car almost before it stopped, heels clicking loudly into the quiet night. The Doctor sighed and rubbed his eyes.

                “Don’t forget, I’m the medical doctor here, _Doctor_. Next time, stick to the science.” John said shortly, stepping out of the car and following Melody. After a moment, the Doctor followed.

 


	9. Patience

John walked quickly after Melody, trying to catch up with her brisk strides. “Melody,” he said quietly when he did “Why did you lie?” She sighed.

                “Never let him see the damage.” She said sadly, more to herself than to John. John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.

                “What are you talking about? Melody,” he took hold of her arm and stopped her. “What are you talking about?” She stopped and looked at John, her eyes looking older than the rest of her face. She lifted her newly healed hand and rested it lightly on John’s cheek.

                “Never let him see the damage. Never let him see you age. It’s too…” she paused, searching for the right word “Human.” She conceded after a minute. “He’s just like Sherlock, he doesn’t like to be reminded of the weakness of humanity.” John swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat and nodded sharply, pulling away from her touch. They stood in silence for a moment before the Doctor caught up, River’s instrument in hand.

                “Got a precise location, he’s at a hotel called the Winter Quay!” he called as he approached them. “It’s just ‘round the corner, let’s go.” Without a word, John and River followed him.

…

…

…

                Back at his mansion, Mr. Grayle walked cautiously down the stairs to the foyer, inspecting the damage. The foyer wan in shambles, precious vases smashed to bits, papers strewn about, and a strange blue box had appeared in the corner. Feeling a chill, he folded his arms across his chest and looked around. His eyes caught sight of movement, and he went to investigate.

                Just outside the front door, a beautiful statue of a young woman was standing, her arm stretched out longingly in front of herself. Mr. Grayle smiled. “Oh, aren’t you gorgeous.” He said quietly, turning to call someone to bring it in. When he turned, he found himself confronted by a statue of a small boy standing behind him, its arms stretched out. It stared straight ahead with cold eyes, looking at everything and nothing. Mr. Grayle froze.

…

…

…

                **_Poor lighting, the faint sound of rats scurrying, a thin layer of dust on the railings, no one has been here in a long time_** Sherlock observed as he exited the lift and walked cautiously down the hallway. He swallowed thickly against the lump forming in his throat, trying to ignore the feeling of trepidation threatening to overcome his senses. _Deep breaths, pay attention, don’t be stupid_ he chanted in his head, frustrated with himself. Fear was making him shaky. Clearing his throat roughly, he walked down the hall, looking at the doors.  He stopped at one and stared for a moment before grabbing the handle and entering the room.  

                Despite his reputation regarding his astounding observational skills, Sherlock Holmes does make mistakes. He misses things, doesn’t always catch what’s lurking in the dark. For example, as he turned the brass handle of the door and entered the room off the hallway, he didn’t notice the stone Angel at the other end of the hall, waiting in silence and shadow.

                But no matter.

                Angels are patient.

…

…

…

                The trio of time travelers rushed down the street, approaching the building on the corner. Its neon sign reading ‘The Winter Quay’ blinked against the night sky. They ran up the stairs and threw open the heavy wooden door. The lift was waiting for them. John followed Melody and the Doctor into it, bouncing on the balls of his feet. _He has to be here,_ he thought to himself firmly, _he just has to be._

                When the lift clicked to a stop on the second floor, they nearly tripped over each other trying to get out. They formed a sort of line with the Doctor leading, River holding onto his jacket sleeve, and John just trying to keep up. Impatiently, he pushed past the couple. “Sherlock?” he called out loudly, swallowing his fear and slowing down to a brisk walk. His eyes were focused on the doors, not the end of the hallway.

                “John?” he heard, not far. Breath catching in his throat, he started running towards the voice. When he came to the opened door, he entered the room and saw Sherlock standing right inside.

                “Shit, Sherlock!” he sighed gratefully, coming to an abrupt halt. Sherlock said nothing, but pulled him into a brief embrace. John let him, not noticing the door closing behind him. He took a deep breath and buried his face in Sherlock’s chest, the knot in his stomach loosening.  After a moment, he pulled back so he could look Sherlock up and down. “Are you hurt?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head.

                “I’m fine. Is the Doctor with you? They have Doctor Song, we got separated – “

                “They’re both with me, everyone’s fine.” John cut him off “What is this place?” his boyfriend shrugged.

                “Haven’t a clue. It’s usually more fun that way.”

                


	10. Run

River and the Doctor continued down the hallway, eyes glued to the figure in the corner. The Angel was hiding in the shadows. Its hands were held out in a prayer position, mouth contorted into an eerie smile.

                “Doctor…Doctor, why is it doing that? Why is it smiling?” River asked, holding tightly to his sleeve. The Doctor studied it carefully, then started looking around it.

                “River, I-“ he paused abruptly, realizing that the army doctor was no longer behind him. “John? John, where are you?” he called looking around. He started back down the hallway, looking at the doors. He stopped abruptly outside one door, staring at the label at eye level. Then, everything clicked in his head.

‘S. Holmes’

Of course. That’s it.

“John! Get out, don’t look at anything, we have to go!” he pushed the door open, seeing Sherlock and John, backs to the door. In the bed was a very elderly man laying alone.

“The lights are flickering, it’s moving.” River said in his ear. The Doctor nodded silently and watched the couple in front of him.

“Who’s that?” John asked shakily, looking at the man in the bed.

“John?” the old man croaked out, pushing himself up slightly. “John!” he said again, reaching out his arm. John froze, mouth slightly open. After a second’s worth of hesitation, he walked cautiously over to the bed. He sad gingerly down and took the man’s fragile hand in his own.

“Yes, I’m here.” He said softly, trying to act less scared than he was. The man’s eyes were wide and urgent.

“John, John...please” he croaked out, coughing and clinging to John. John ran his thumb over the back of his hand.

“Shh, it’s okay, you just rest, alright? Just rest.” He said comfortingly, working hard to keep his voice even.  The man nodded and closed his eyes. After a moment, his breathing slowed to a stop and his grip on John’s hand slackened.

Sherlock watched from the doorway, feeling slightly nauseous. The Doctor turned his back, covering his face with his hands.  

“Doctor, it that…” Sherlock started, choking on the last word. The Doctor didn’t answer. John delicately laid the man’s hand down and pulled the comforter over his head. For a moment, he was silent.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“I just died.” Sherlock answered simply. John nodded.

“Right.” He turned stiffly, shoulders square, chin up. “What now?” He looked around the room. The Doctor walked to the window.

“The Angels are policing this area.” He said, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “In a way. That’s why we couldn’t get here in the TARDIS, they have it trapped in its own sort of time bubble. They’re keeping people in, displacing them in time and space over and over again until they die, creating time energy.”

“It’s a feeding ground. They’re farming energy off the people. ” River said, sounding horrified. “Doctor, I’ve been here for a few months, watching them take over the city. I knew something was going on but, this…” The Doctor nodded gravely.

“Yes, and once they pick a victim, they don’t let them leave. And now…”

“And now they’re after me.” Sherlock finished for him, looking anywhere but at the figure in the bed. The Doctor nodded. John looked from him to Sherlock, confused and beginning to panic.

“What does that mean? What’s going to happen, what’s physically going to happen?” he asked.

“An Angel is going to come.” The Doctor explained simply “It will get Sherlock, send him back forty years or so. He will live his life in the past, and then die in that bed.”

“And I won’t be with him.” John said, already knowing the answer.

“Most likely not.” Sherlock said emotionlessly, “I was desperate to see you, obviously I hadn’t seen you in a long time. So either you were there, and died before me, or I was alone the entire time. The second being the most probable. ” John stared at his boyfriend, seeing right through the emotionless mask. Sherlock was terrified.

“Well, they haven’t taken you yet. What if we just run?” John suggested.

“It’s not that simple, he just witnessed his own future.”  The Doctor replied angrily.

“No, he’s right.” River spoke for the first time in several minutes, eyes bright with sudden revelation. “If he escaped the Angel, it would create a paradox. Paradoxes kill Angels, create one and it would poison the entire area. We could kill them all!” she said excitedly. The Doctor shook his head.

“It would be almost impossible.” He insisted.

“I’m loving the ‘almost’.” She replied. He threw up his hands angrily.

“That would take immense power, River! What have we got that has that much power, eh?” he asked rhetorically. John set his jaw and walked over to Sherlock.

“I won’t let them have him.” He said simply, taking the detective’s hand, “That’s what we’ve got.” Sherlock clung to his hand tightly.

“You would be running for the rest of your life.” The Doctor warned, not looking very opposed to the idea.  John shrugged.

“Well then, let’s get started.” Sherlock said, turning to open the door. On the other side, the Angel was waiting. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked back at John,  “Eyes front, soldier.” He said, leading John around it carefully and running down the hall. River and the Doctor made to follow.

“River, this isn’t going to work.”

“Shut up.” She said sharply, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. The lights flickered and they jerked back again, the Angel only a few inches away now. “Any ideas?” she asked as they flickered again, bringing the Angel further into the room.

“The usual. Run!”


	11. Flying

 

 

Sherlock and John ran down the hall hand in hand, pushing through a door to a flight of stairs. Half way down, they were confronted by two Angels at the foot. “No, up, up! Keep watching!” Sherlock yelled, awkwardly leading John up the stairs as the army doctor trained his eyes on the two figures. When the Angels were out of sight, he turned around and they ran hard up the stairs. When they reached the top of the last flight, they stumbled onto the roof panting. Sherlock pushed the door closed.

“What now?” John asked, out of breath. Sherlock didn’t answer, looking around. John waited patiently as his detective paced around, muttering to himself. After a few moments, he stopped.

“Of course. It’s the only way.” He muttered before turning back to John. “The Doctor was wrong. We can’t keep running.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t give up!”

“I’m not giving up, John. It’s just there’s a simpler way.” He responded sharply, his eyes bright with his new revelation.

“A simpler…what are you talking about? John spluttered. Sherlock didn’t answer. He walked over to the edge of the building, looking thoughtfully into the night sky. After a moment, he removed his coat, folding it neatly and laying it down. Carefully, he placed one foot on the ledge of the building, then pulled the rest of his body up, facing away from his doctor. John’s eyes widened in horror. “Sherlock, get the hell down! What the fuck are you – “

“I’m finding a way out. If I die here, now, instead of in that bed, a paradox will be created. You heard Doctor Song, paradoxes kill Angels. It’s the most practical solution.” He explained dryly, glad John couldn’t see the fear on his face.  John rushed over to him and held out a hand.

“No, Sherlock, don’t you dare, you get down from there now.” He insisted, his entire body trembling. He knew Sherlock was right, he knew it deep down, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the all too familiar scene. Sherlock reached back and took John’s hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of the army doctor’s tanned hand.  

“John, there isn’t another way. If it works, I’ll just come back. ” Sherlock said softly, his lips twitching slightly. “If you would just think, you would realize that. Now, trust me, and let go. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

“Exactly! And if you think I’m letting you do it again, you’re crazy!” John insisted, tugging at his hand. “Please, please just come down.” He pleaded. Sherlock didn’t move.

“I can’t.” he responded. After a moment, John nodded and pursed his lips.

“Alright then.” He said shortly. “If you think you’ll just come back, let’s not waste time.” He let go of Sherlock’s hand and stepped forward. Gingerly, he placed one foot on the ledge, then the other. Holding his arms out for balance, he looked over at Sherlock who had a panicked look in his eyes.

“John, what are you doing, get  -“ John shook his head, silencing Sherlock.

“I’m not letting you do this alone. Not again.” He insisted, blinking hard against tears beginning to form behind his eyes. Sherlock stared at John for a moment, eyes wide. Then, he gave a small smile and offered his hand. John took it gratefully.

“What the hell are you two doing?” the Doctor shouted. John and Sherlock looked over their shoulders as he and River crawled up the fire escape, looking horrified.

“Changing the future, Doctor.” Sherlock said simply. He looked back at John, who nodded.

Wordlessly, Sherlock and John leaned forward and let gravity take a hold of them. It felt less like falling and more like flying as the cool night air wrapped around them like a blanket. Weeping Angels can be patient, they can kill, they can tear people and lives apart. But one thing they can’t do is fly.

The Doctor wasn’t thinking about this. All he saw was Sherlock and John falling to their deaths, being sucked down mercilessly by gravity in sickening slow motion. He ran to the ledge, screaming their names as they fell. River stood her ground, staring hard at the sky where the time bubble created by the Angels began. “Doctor, it’s working!” she yelled gleefully as she watched it breaking apart, melting into little bursts of light “They did it! They did it!” The Doctor’s eyes widened as he watched.  He jumped up and grabbed River’s hand.

“We need to get back to the TARDIS. Now!” He started pulling her over to the fire escape, then paused. After a second of mental deliberation, he spun back around and ran back to the ledge. Snatching up Sherlock’s coat, he rejoined his wife, and they fled the building hand in hand. 


	12. The Angels Take London

John and Sherlock pushed themselves up, blinking blearily and looked around. “Well, shit.” John said, laughing. “We did it. We’re back. ” He sighed with relief and flopped back on to the ground.

                “We did it!” the Doctor yelled, running over to the couple and nearly exploding with excitement. “We’re back where we started! Back to the graveyard, back to the TARDIS, oh you two are brilliant! Brilliant!” He bounced excitedly and pulled them into an awkward embrace.

                “But why are we back here, this is what happened before.” John asked. The Doctor _psshed_ and pulled back.

                “We got lucky! Well, I can’t ever take the TARDIS back to London, the timelines are too scrambled, but who the hell cares! Oh,” he paused for a moment, smiling “I could have lost both of you.” He embraced them again “Don’t ever do that again!” he insisted loudly. John laughed, partly at the Doctor’s excitement and partly at Sherlock’s obvious distaste for being hugged by the Time Lord. The Doctor pulled back again after a minute and bounced back to the TARDIS and River. The couple looked at each other for a moment and smiled before following the Doctor.

                “She could do with a repaint.” River remarked, studying the TARDIS and holding Sherlock’s coat to her chest. The Doctor huffed.

                “Well, I’ve been busy!” he whined. River rolled her eyes.

                “Oi, Doctor,” John called out as he and Sherlock caught up. “Next time, could we just go to the pub?” The Doctor grinned.

                “I want to go to the pub _right_ now! Are there video games? Oh, I love video games, they’re so much fun!” he bounced into the TARDIS, talking to himself excitedly. River rolled her eyes.

                “Family outing then? Come on.” River said playfully, pushing Sherlock’s coat to his chest and pulling him over. John smiled, enjoying the picture in front of him. When he made to follow, however, something caught his eye. He paused, confused.

                “Sherlock, come here, this is weird. This headstone has someone with the same name as me. “

                “What did you say?” Sherlock asked, pulling the Bellstaff around his lanky form.   

                “Come look.” John insisted. Sherlock turned to go to him.  

                Then he blinked.

                And John was gone.

                Sherlock froze, staring at the Angel who was standing where John had been only seconds ago. “Doctor!” he yelled, his stomach dropping. “Doctor!”

                The Doctor ran out of the TARDIS, River close behind. “Where the hell did that come from?” she yelled angrily. The Doctor cautiously approached it, walking around Sherlock.

                “It survived somehow, but just barely. Keep looking!” he said loudly.

                “It got John.” Sherlock said weakly, hands trembling. The Doctor, after making sure Sherlock and River were watching it, turned away from the Angel to look at the headstone.

 

_In Loving Memory_

_John H. Watson_

_Aged 82_

                “Sherlock…Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” He choked out, at loss for words.

                “Shut up, just shut up.” Sherlock snapped, his voice cracking. “We can just go get him.” He insisted. The Doctor shook his head.

                “We can’t, we’ll tear London apart – “

                “I don’t care! I don’t believe you!” Sherlock cut him off, his entire body shaking now. He balled his hands into fists and tried to take a deep breath.

                “Father, it’s true.” Melody said gently, fighting off tears. Sherlock stood silently for a moment. He took a single, shaky step forward.  

                “Sherlock, what are you doing?” the Doctor asked, confused.  

                “Would it take me to the same time as him?” Sherlock asked quietly. The Doctor’s eyes widened in horror.

                “What are you talking about, stop it, come on!” he grabbed Sherlock’s arm and tugged. Sherlock pulled back, then let his arm fall limply to his side.

                “It’s my best shot, if I let it get me I have the best odds of seeing him again.” Sherlock said, half asking half stating.

                “No! That’s not true.” the Doctor lied easily. Melody glared.

                “Doctor shut up, yes it is!” She insisted, looking at Sherlock’s back.  Sherlock nodded and took another step forward, more sure now.

                “I just have to blink.” He said softly, tasting the words in his mouth and ignoring the Doctor’s increasingly loud protests. “Melody, “He choked out “Melody, look after him. He’s like your father, he doesn’t do well on his own.”

                “I will.” She said simply, knowing that was all he wanted to hear.

                “Sherlock, stop this! Come back to the TARDIS, come on!” the Doctor yelled, increasingly desperate. Sherlock shook his head.

                “I can’t Doctor…I have to.” He smiled sadly, “I was so alone, and…I owe him so much. I have to go to him.” He took a deep breath. “Goodbye, Doctor.” He turned slowly.

                And was gone.

                The Doctor fell to his knees as Sherlock disappeared, letting the tears flow freely down his face. After a moment, River stepped forward and took his hand, pulling him up and leading him back to the TARDIS. The Angel stayed behind, standing over the headstone with a cheeky smile.

 

_In Loving Memory_

_John H. Watson_

_Aged 82_

_Sherlock Holmes_

_Aged 87_


	13. John's Last Farewell

The Doctor numbly let River lead him back into his ship. Once inside, he sank to his knees and sat on the floor, staring at his hands. River left him there, walking over to the console. She flipped a few switches to bring the ship to life, traveling away from London as quickly as possible. She left the brakes on.

                “River.” The Doctor said after a moment. “They were your parents. I…I’m sorry.” He finished lamely. She avoided his gaze.

                “It doesn’t matter.”

                “Of course it does.”

                “No.” she insisted, gripping the side of the console and drawing strength from it, “What matters is this. Don’t travel alone. Sherlock was right, you’re just like him. You don’t do well alone, things get blown up.”

                “Then travel with me.” He suggested shyly, looking at her with young eyes. River forced a smile.

                “Where ever and when ever you like. But not all the time. One psychopath per TARDIS, don’t you think?” she joked, drawing a small smile out of him. Her eyes traveled to the book laying forgotten on the console. She picked it up. “I’d best get on with writing this. I’ll be sure not to change anything.” she said briskly, “Except maybe the cover.”.  The Doctor waved a hand impatiently.

                “Yes, yes.” He said absentmindedly, looking back at his hands. River studied him for a moment, then walked over and held it out to him.

                “I’ll find John. Tell him to write an afterword for you. Maybe you’ll listen to him.” She said softly, leaving him with the book and his thoughts. The Doctor held the book in silence, running his thumb over the cover. After taking a moment to build his courage, he turned to the end of the book.

.

.

.

.

.

_John’s Last Farewell_

                Hello, Doctor. If you’re back in 2012 where we left you, the events at Winter Quay just happened for you. For me and Sherlock, it’s been over a hundred years. That feels so strange to write. Time is strange. You of all people should know that.  

                Anyway. There’s some things you should know.

                You should know that we found each other, the Angel sent Sherlock back to me just as Melody said it would. We made good lives together in London. Obviously we had to hide our relationship, but we’ve gotten by. I’ve taken up medical work again. Sherlock’s sleuthing about like he always has. We met a man named Arthur Doyle who is fascinated by his adventures. He wants to turn them into stories, says we can make good money off them.

                You should know that none of this was your fault. You did the best you could. But above all else, you should you know we will always love you, Doctor. You changed our lives for the better, you’re family. Sherlock is rolling his eyes at me for writing that, but he knows it’s true.

You know, I worry about you sometimes. I worry that you will blame yourself and travel alone. You shouldn’t ever be alone.  It’s not good, or safe.

                But I do ask a favor, Doctor. There’s a soldier sitting alone in a flat in London, 221B Baker Street. He thinks his best friend is dead. He thinks he is alone, and he’s going to have three years to wait, so he will need a lot of hope. Go to him. Tell him a story. Tell him that he will find his detective again, that they will fall in love and travel the stars. Tell him he will have the most amazing daughter he could ever wish for. Tell him that the days are coming that he will never forget.

Tell him: This is the story of John Watson.

And this is how it ends.

_-John Watson, 1895_


End file.
